pture, "Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof," what were they to do for themselves? Desmond could
draw and paint; he had the usual smattering of knowledge to be obtained
in an ordinary school. Beyond these accomplishments and his father's
gift for writing, the big, handsome, curly-haired fellow, half man and
half boy, had nothing wherewith to fight the world.

"Writing for him, I suppose?" suggested Father Healy, as he and Dr.
Marsh drove out in the doctor's gig to interview the O'Connors.

Dr. Marsh grunted, as was his way. He never had paid much attention to
Desmond O'Connor. His opinion of the boy was that a battle with the
world would do him nothing but good.

"Whatever he can get. If he does that well, he may begin to pick and
choose," he said. "But Kathleen needs consideration."

Kathleen O'Connor was undoubtedly the doctor's favourite. She was such a
sweet girl, beautiful in face, gentle in her manners. In her black dress
she had looked so fragile and broken with grief on the day of her
father's funeral. Vainly trying to maintain composure, yet shaken
constantly by an involuntary sob, she had marvellously affected the
tough old doctor, to whom female beauty appealed, although he affected
to scorn it.

"The girl is beautiful," he said, "and it's a dangerous gift with
weakness."

"The O'Connors always were beautiful," replied Father Healy. "Michael's
father was the finest man in Ireland. They were born to be kings, and
spent their money as if they had been emperors, while the money lasted.
The boy is as grand as the girl, and I am fearful for him."

"Oh, there is good and bad in the boy, as there is in every man of us."

He and the priest were sworn friends and allies, although they argued on
every question that ever arose local or general--the doctor because he
liked it, and Father Healy to humour a friend. At the gate of "Avoca,"
as Michael O'Connor had called his house, the doctor reined his horse
in, and the two men scanned the dilapidated gate and unpainted fence,
part of the general decay of what had been a pleasant villa and garden
in the good days.

"It's like poor Michael," sighed the priest. "He only troubled himself
about one thing, his soul. Well! that's saved, please God."

"Hem!" grunted the doctor, "that won't help Kathleen."

"It's a consolation to her, and always will be. To have had a good
father is of as much value as a fortune," replied the priest.

"From your point of view,